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“Not until two. Anyway, how
was your Thanksgiving?”
You called to ask that?
What’s wrong with you?
“Nothing. I’m fine. I mean,
well, Dad had a DUI….”
You don’t expect me to bail
him out, do you? Does he?
“Uh, no. I don’t … I didn’t
call about that, Mom….”
WHY DID I CALL?
It wasn’t just the boredom.
It was the question that had
been burning inside me for
three days. Mom prompted,
Okay, then. Why did you call?
And out it came, slick as
a baby pig. “Why didn’t you
ever tell me how you and Dad
met, and that I have a sister?”
Very long pause. Who told you?
Duh. “Who do you think, Mother?
Anyway, that doesn’t matter.
Don’t you think I have the right
to know something like that?”
Even longer pause. I guess so.
Anger seethed. “You guess
so? I know we don’t talk much,
and when we do, it’s usually
all about you, but—”
